TBS has received an anonymous email recounting one man’s heroic doomed struggle in the face of today’s nationwide Telstra outage.
To whoever reads this, for which I suspect will be no-one, know that I existed. Future man, whoever you are, when you read this message encased in a glass and metal bottle, adrift in the dead sea of mobile coverage, please know, that what I did was in order to survive, and to not judge me.
I’m unsure where my partner is.
She might as dead as her phone is. She left this morning, bravely taking her chances “out there” like that English explorer dude, the one that left the camp or walked to the camp or something. It was cold. I can’t remember his name.
I’d love to look it up, but I can’t.
Anyway, it’s strange, ya know.
Not knowing what the important mornings are, ones where you might not see someone again. As I sit here, in last week’s clothes (I’m unable to check if the dry cleaner is open), I’m wondering what I should have said to her. That I love her, I suppose. I really don’t, but would that have been enough to make her stay? I could have learned to love her. Imagine the post-callpocalyptic dating pool would be substantially chlorinated.
There’s no-one left. I’m not being paranoid, I’ve been on Tinder all morning. (Note: Tinder was a dating process we used in our day to find an appropriate mate through the medium of genital pictures and lame puns whilst we were in the grip of necessary daily bodily function. Or going number-two, whatever. I’ll admit it. No-one will read this.)
I’ve tried to find a new “her” but all I can see is my own reflection. Which makes me feel guilty.
Anyway, I’m sorry Linda. (Let her read this bit.)
Linda. I’m sorry about all the mornings where I pretended I was asleep so I didn’t have to deal with the “Morning You”. I really don’t care for her. I’m sorry I use that retail voice when I order things. I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter now. Hopefully, you made it. (To work.)
Back to you, future dude. I know you’re reading this, hoping to find some clues to what happened this fateful day, because I fear there would be no records kept, now that we can’t edit Wikipedia, but here’s what I know.
No-one really knows what’s happening for sure. Those in the know, don’t know. And we have no way to contact them. Apparently, they can call us, but they haven’t. The last message from Telstra was: “There is an outage,” which served as the last four words etched upon the SMS of civilised society.
If you still have statues in the future, I’d imagine that’s what they’d say.
We’re unsure how it started. When the machines took over. We don’t know what to do. Oh, you know what. I could definitely go some Terminator 2, I was halfway through it on Netflix the other…
Jesus. Someone is knocking on my door. How could that possibly be? Are there more out there?
I looked through the peep-hole. It looked like Gav from next-door, but it also didn’t look like him. I’ve never seen him before. Only on Facebook. (Facebook was a place where we grouped to lie and have our personal information stolen.)
I’m not taking any chances.
It’s now +6 hours in. My clock still works. It’ll be nightfall soon. There’s no food in the house. I was going to order in. I wish I didn’t delete those apps. Maybe I could read. Do I have that much time? Has it come to this?
Note to self: when dead, ask Herman Melville “why?”.
Why, God, why? Just get on the boat already!
Fine. Melville. Fine. Play your games. Does the whale even exist? Fine. I’ll just look up the summary to get started. Fuck.
Future dude, you still there? I don’t have much energy left. I’d like to apologise to you. I’m sorry if this message from the past has left you disappointed, but this outage has claimed us all. We’ve lost all disposable knowledge and communication skills. I can’t give you the reasons why, or the how comes.
If this is the end, so be it. This new world scares me. I want to have no part of it. Regressing to an historic level of coverage is something that’s not me. I’m home behind five bars of ADSL+2. I like it here. I can’t make it outside. It’s unlimited bandwidth or bust. I tried turning it off and on again but it’s no good.
All is lost.
Well, Linda, I hope we meet one iCloudy day soon.
Trevor was here.